Passion
by Spye
Summary: Post-war. Draco and Harry's rivalry has become a driving force in their lives. When a new evil arrives, they are suspected of being behind it. But who is it really and where is Wormtail? Slash
1. Passion1

Passion Part 1  
  
Disclaimer: Not mine, clear?  
  
Enjoy!  
  
Harry looked around the battlefield. It was still, deserted by all save the dead. Everyone who could had apparated away when he and Voldemort had come face to face for the last time. Now, he wanted to see what they had lost. See it before he had to go back and face the celebrations and the mourning.  
  
He looked at the ground as he walked, seeing the blood and the corpses through jaded eyes. For Merlin's sake, it was Christmas. This should never have been allowed to happen. Then, one of the bodies moved a hand very slightly, just fingers clenching, and the rising sun glinted off of grey eyes watching him. The blonde sixteen-year old lay on his stomach, head turned so he could watch the battle. A dagger's hilt protruded from the exact centre of his back.  
  
"Malfoy? You're alive?"  
  
The Slytherin groaned. His Order robes were slashed to pieces, much like Harry's. "Unfortunately."  
  
"Why don't you get up? You need medical attention."  
  
"I can't, Potter. Now go away."  
  
Perversely, the smaller boy knelt. He examined the dagger wound closely, careful not to exert unnecessary pressure as he peeled the shredded robes away. The dagger had gone directly between two vertebrae without damaging either, but it looked like the spine was severed. "Malfoy, how much of your body is still working?" he asked bluntly.  
  
"None of your business! Go away! I don't want your pity."  
  
"You don't have it, Malfoy. Answer the question."  
  
"Nosy little prat. My legs don't work. And I'd rather die than live like that, so go be a goody-goody Gryffindor to someone else."  
  
"Ready to give up so easily? How like you. You always were a little coward. You ran in first year, you ran to hide from your father with Dumbledore, and you're running now. If you die now, I'll never let you forget how cowardly you are. I'll taunt your grave. It'll be proof, final evidence, that I'm better than you. I'll win, Malfoy."  
  
"You never won! Never!" the blonde snapped. He tried to shove himself off the ground, and groaned in pain.  
  
"Hold still. You'll make it worse. Will you let me take you to St Mungo's to get medical treatment now?"  
  
"The dagger's at least six inches into the ground. You'll have to get it out."  
  
Harry considered and nodded finally. "All right. I have enough medical training to heal you up a bit, but I can't do anything for your paralysis." He pulled out his wand, and began what had the possibilities of being a long process. Voldemort's death had invigorated him, somehow the energy the dying soul had released giving him the equivalent of a full night's sleep, and regardless of his worries that he had absorbed more of the monster's powers, he was glad of it now. "Is the dagger barbed?" he asked absently while continuing to work on the other's less serious injuries.  
  
"No. It should come right out."  
  
"Right. This is going to hurt like hell. Try and hold still. On the count of five. One. Two." He pulled the dagger out.  
  
Draco screamed and fainted briefly. The Gryffindor took advantage of the situation to examine the wound. The spine had been neatly severed. Other than that, there was very little damage. He healed what he could, then woke the other young man. "That was not a killing blow," he said curtly. "If they had you disabled enough to do that, they could easily have killed you."  
  
"No. They wanted me to watch what I had done. Do you remember your parents' deaths, Potter? Mine were killed right in front of me. I am not a coward."  
  
"You aren't. You chose to live. Pity. One less insult I can throw your way. Ah, well. I'll prove it yet." He knew the competition was one way to keep his rival aware. Over the course of the war, they had come to depend on it. It had, at times, been the only thing keeping either of them same. It would now, he hoped, force the other boy to choose life, if only to prove that he could. He spared a moment to wonder what would happen to the rivalry now. The war was over, the Dark Lord dead. Draco was probably damaged irreparably, and they still had a year and a half of school.  
  
"Potter!"  
  
"What?" he snapped.  
  
"Kindly snap out of your dreamland and tell me how you planned to get me out of here." When the only answer he received was a confused look, he pushed himself up on his elbows. "I may have you to thank for healing me this much, but you really need to grow a brain. Typical Gryffindor idiot. Go find me a rock."  
  
"Since when do I follow your orders, Malfoy?"  
  
"Since now. Do it, and I'll consider us even for you healing me."  
  
The Gryffindor obeyed. The rock, when he found it, was bloodstained, but a muttered charm took care of that. He placed it in front of the Slytherin.  
  
"Oh, honestly, do I have to do everything? You're the animagus." The blonde pulled out his wand, balancing himself awkwardly, and transfigured the rock into a chair. He promptly added a charm to animate it and struggled to pull himself into it. He tensed in surprise when strong arms lifted him. "This," he muttered, "is going to take getting used to."  
  
"Come on, Malfoy, you have friends. They'll help you."  
  
"Name one. That's still alive and not in custody."  
  
"Um. . ." He thought about it, and he couldn't come up with anyone. "We'd better go. We have to walk, since we can't apparate. I won't take a Portkey."  
  
"You have to walk. I can ride in style." He smirked.  
  
"You're feeling better. Let's go. The Finnigan's house is only a few miles away."  
  
"Wasn't someone supposed to come back and fetch you? I know the plan was for everyone to leave when you faced Voldemort so he couldn't use hostages against you like last time, but how did they expect you to get back?"  
  
"Hermione was supposed to come. She knows how to apparate." He gritted his teeth. "I don't know why she isn't here. She and Ron have been getting distant after the last few battles. They've only seen the aftermath; what right to do they have?" He closed his mouth firmly before he could say anything further.  
  
"We weren't the only students who fought."  
  
"No, we were just the only ones who fought for the Order. I killed Zabini myself."  
  
"I took great delight in killing Parkinson," Draco agreed. "We were allowed to fight because I was already trained, and there was no way to keep you out of the war."  
  
"You never did tell me why you joined our side."  
  
Draco shrugged. "You. You're the only person I've ever been able to compete with. You and I are equals, though I'll never admit to saying it. If you tell anyone, I'll claim it was pain talking."  
  
"You aren't in any pain. I took care of that. Even healed up your legs, which you couldn't have felt anyway."  
  
"Utterly beside the point. I enjoyed competing with you. We're closely matched in everything we do. Besides, you're the only person I've ever met with the potential to be as—passionate about living as I am. I've seen you fly, and how you fight—you throw the whole of yourself into it, the same way I do. If we tried, I'm not sure who would be better."  
  
They continued for a time in relative silence, broken only occasionally by the Slytherin cursing at his chair or recasting the charm on it. Finally, they reached the house. No one was home, probably out celebrating, so they had to break in to use the fireplace.   
  
"How are you going to do this?" Harry asked.  
  
"I'm going to go through in my chair, of course. What do you think? Typical bloody stupid Gryffindor. St Mungo's or Hogwarts?"  
  
"You'll get good enough treatment at either. You choose."  
  
"Hogwarts. Besides, St Mungo's has bad associations for me."  
  
Harry decided it was better not to pry into that particular statement, considering who his companion's father was. "You first, then."  
  
Draco shook his head. "One more thing, Potter. Come here." When the Gryffindor was close enough, he pulled the shorter boy down to him and kissed him hard and cruelly, leaving both their mouths and tongues bloody when they pulled away. He hadn't been surprised when the other had kissed him back, just as roughly. "I will prove I'm better; I will win, even if I am crippled," he hissed, a smirk twisting his face.  
  
"Nothing's ever stopped you from trying before, even if trying is all you'll ever do," Harry retorted, his expression matching.  
  
They came out in the hospital wing. Draco was immediately swarmed over by Madam Pomfrey. Most of the injuries, it turned out, had been taken to St Mungo's, so the medi-witch had enough time to help him. "Mr Potter, please tell me what you've already done for him."  
  
"I found him with the dagger that cut his spine still in him. I healed up all his minor injuries, checked for broken bones and such. I asked him if the dagger was barbed, and when he said no, I pulled it out. I healed the injury, but there was nothing I could do for the damage it had done. As far as I can tell, he's physically fine—except for his broken back."  
  
The woman nodded. "Put him in that bed there," she pointed, "so I can do some tests on him." She turned to the Slytherin. "Mr Potter is quite a competent healer, so I am reasonably sure his analysis is correct. I will run a few tests, and we can discuss the results. I would like Mr Potter here as both a member of the Order and the person who did the preliminary treatment. Is that acceptable, Mr Malfoy?"  
  
"It's fine," Draco snapped. He suffered through what he considered to be blatant manhandling of his person, and waited to say anything until he was sitting, supported by pillows, in the hospital cot. "Well?" he demanded.  
  
Harry and Madam Pomfrey took seats on either side of him. Finally, the nurse said, "Mr Potter's analysis of your condition is quite correct. You are paralysed essentially from the waist down. You may have some feeling in your genitals, but you have no control. Potions can be given to you to enhance the feeling so that you can still reproduce and such, but little else can be done for your condition. Yet, of course; there is some research being done on paralysis, but nothing has been found. For the time being, you will have to find an alternate means of getting around. I doubt you will settle for anything as crude as the chair you charmed to get here."  
  
"Hardly."  
  
"Your best option might be an adaptation of what Muggles use in similar situations. A chair with wheels. Yours would, of course, be charmed to handle steps and such. Unlike Muggle wheel-chairs, you wouldn't have to push it unless you wanted to. You could just tell it where to go. Another option is a broom with a harness to keep you on it, but that is neither practical nor comfortable. It also couldn't be easily charmed to take care of some necessities."  
  
The Slytherin, renowned for his ability to control his facial expressions, blushed. The thought clearly hadn't occurred to him.  
  
"Both the chair and the broom could be enchanted to raise and lower themselves so you can reach things. The chair would offer more support to help you sit up, among other things. Would you like to hear some more options?"  
  
"No," the blonde said after a moment, his pale cheeks back to their natural colour—or lack thereof. "I think I would prefer the chair. Although if a broom could be arranged so that I can keep playing Quidditch, I'd appreciate it."  
  
"You'll break your neck playing that game, both of you," the woman sniffed, but she didn't say anything further. Both were glad to be spared one of her tirades, having heard them numerous times with various Quidditch inujuries, as she continued, "I can have the chair here for you tomorrow, so you can start to get used to it, but the broom may take a bit longer. I want you to drink this," she handed him a potion, "and go to sleep. And you, Mr Potter. You can come with me. You need your wounds tended." 


	2. Passion2

Passion Part 2  
  
Disclaimer: Not mine, clear?  
  
Enjoy!  
  
The rivals met again the next day when the Gryffindor stormed into the Hospital Wing, eyes black with fury.  
  
Draco, who had commanded his new chair to take him over to the window, looked up, cold grey eyes narrowed. "What, Potter, back again? You're beginning to act like you care."  
  
The dark-haired boy was silent for a second, looking at the floor. When he looked up, his eyes were still dark, but his face was twisted into a mockery of a grin. "What would you say, Malfoy, if I said I wanted to take our rivalry up a notch?"  
  
"I'd tell you to sit down and tell me what the fuck happened before you go saying any such thing."  
  
"My friends," the word was a hiss, nearly parseltongue, "want nothing more to do with me."  
  
With a muttered command, the Slytherin's chair took him over to his rival. "Sit, Potter. I'm not going to stare up at you like a love-struck girl." When the other boy had complied, he said, "Now, explain. I understand if you have problems being coherent, but if you stick to words of two syllables, you should manage." The fact that the taunt wasn't answered was what first told Draco that, if he had been one of Potter's friends, he should be worrying. The explanation clinched it.  
  
"They knew I fought, you know. Knew I killed. Saw us revel in how much chaos we could cause. They knew both you and I could cast the Killing Curse—without regret. I don't know what they thought, that the war would be won without bloodshed or something, but I'm tainted with others' blood now. They won't come near me. They won't even let me into Gryffindor tower, so Dumbledore had to give me a room in the castle."  
  
"So you, like me, are left with no one. You said you wanted to step up the rivalry. How?"  
  
"Screw the rest of the world. We're the best, and we know it. Anything, everything. The only thing we don't know is which of us is better. So we work together—to beat each other. In everything. Who's top of the class. Who's Quidditch champion. Who wins the duel. Anything is fair play. There's nothing left to force us to train, so let's do it ourselves. And if the world disapproves, let them. I'm not afraid of a little blood. Are you?"  
  
"After this?" He gestured to his chair. "Not at all." He held out his hand. "You're on, Potter."  
  
They shook, grips hard, neither one the stronger, for the moment. "Good." The darkness reflected in both their eyes.  
  
"Now get me out of this wing. There's nothing Pomfrey can do for me. She's already demonstrated the bloody chair's many—functions," he sneered. "I can get around just fine, so there's no need to confine me up here."  
  
Harry smiled grimly. "I'm going to the library. I have a bit of reading to do, if I want to beat you in classes. You're welcome to come."  
  
Many students had stayed over the break, wanting to be safe behind Hogwarts' protective walls. Draco didn't know if they stared because the two rivals were walking together reasonably peacefully or because he himself couldn't walk. He raised his chin and glared at anyone who looked at him crossways.   
  
That night at supper, Dumbledore announced to the school a brief explanation of what had happened to the Slytherin. He would repeat it in more depth when the term started. Still, most eyes in the Hall were focused on Draco for a large part of the meal. He was grateful to get away.  
  
His rival accompanied him back to the Slytherin dungeons. Outside the Common Room, when they were alone, Harry caught the blonde's lips in a kiss just as cruel as the one the day before, but this one lasted longer. When they finally pulled away, the Gryffindor whispered, "Is this, too, part of the rivalry, or is it something more?" He was gone before there was time to answer.  
  
The weeks before school started again passed quickly as the two scrambled to learn everything they could so they could compete with each other. They exercised, practiced Quidditch, and studied, usually with each other, with a frenzy no one had seen from them before except, rarely, on the battlefield when blood was running high. They pestered the teachers who were still at school for extra lessons and most complied, willing to let the boys get over the trauma of the war in any way that worked for them. Nothing further developed from the two stolen kisses, neither willing to bring the subject up or do anything to push their relationship.  
  
The night the rest of the school got back, Harry and Draco sat together at the Gryffindor table, a seventh year Potions book between them, arguing furiously about a substitution. They were only silenced when Dumbledore stood to welcome the students back.  
  
"I am glad to see so many of you have returned. I hope you duly celebrated the Christmas season, and the ending of the war. As you should all know by now, Voldemort was killed early Christmas morning." Cheers echoed through the hall, though few looked at the young man who had brought the victory about. Dumbledore smiled benignly and continued, "That leads me to my most important announcement tonight. Those of you who stayed for the holidays have already heard this, but those of you who have just returned need to know. Two of our students fought for the Order during the war. Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy fought as well as adults twice their age, and it was Mr Potter who brought Voldemort down. However, one of them was gravely injured during the final battle."  
  
Cold grey eyes snapped up to glare at the Headmaster. "I'm fully capable of explaining what happened to me myself," he said bitterly.  
  
The old man blithely ignored the interruption. "Mr Malfoy was paralysed from the waist down. He will be using a chair to get around, and he is keeping his place on the Quidditch team. If you see either him or Mr Potter engaging in duels or such-like, do not interfere and do not worry. They are well-trained and know what they're doing. Thank you." He sat down and the feast began, though many eyes remained focused on the pair at the Gryffindor table, who had resumed their argument, eating between points.  
  
Finally, Harry leapt to his feet, storming toward the Hall entrance.  
  
"What's the matter, Potter?" The clear, drawling voice echoed through the room, and everyone fell silent to listen to the exchange. "Giving up? Running away because you know I'm right?"  
  
"You wish, Malfoy. I'm going down the Potions lab to prove I'm right. You coming?"  
  
The blonde sneered and commanded his chair to follow his rival. "I wouldn't miss this show for the world."  
  
The Hall doors slammed shut behind them, though the Potions Professor followed a moment later. They were going down to his domain, after all; he wouldn't have them messing things up.  
  
He watched them for a while from the doorway to his classroom, observing how well they worked together and how adept the Slytherin of the pair managed his chair, how quickly he had adapted to his paralysis. He quickly noticed to bone of contention and chuckled. "You're both right, you know," he told them, startling them. He had lightened his attitude towards them considerably when he became one of the teachers they sought most often for extra lessons. He had seen them fight in the war and had to admit that they were both heroes for what they had done. "Your Potions will have slightly different characteristics, but they'll both do the same thing. Potter, yours will focus on healing the actual bone first, before the things around it. Malfoy, yours will heal the muscle first to hold the bone in place while it heals. Can either of you tell me what you'd put in for a much faster, much, much more expensive Potion that would heal it all at once, painlessly?"  
  
"Phoenix tears," they said in unison without realising it. "We knew that, but he just wouldn't listen. . ." They cut off as they realised they were speaking together.  
  
"Ah. So why, pray tell, are you working out of the seventh year text?"  
  
"We're not, really," Harry said calmly.  
  
"No. It's as boring as the sixth year one. But we were reading this book about substitutions in the library, and it mentioned this Potion."  
  
Snape stared at the two for a moment, and then said quietly, "I'd like the two of you to take a quick test, please. Stay here for a moment."  
  
Grey and green eyes met curiously. What did the Professor want of them? Well, a test was a test. Each was determined to best the other. When the Potions Master returned, each of them had set up a table across the room from the other. The Slytherin had remained at the one at the front of the room, since it was harder for him to manoeuvre his chair through the rows of tables, as a silent courtesy from his rival, who had moved to the back.  
  
Both noticed that the name of their test had been scratched out, but they ignored it, getting right down to work. Every time they got frustrated, all it took was a glance at the other to motivate them again. They worked furiously. Draco finished a scant few minutes before the Gryffindor, and they both placed their tests in front of the Professor.  
  
Snape read over them, his mouth falling open.  
  
"Now will you tell us what we just took?" his pet student demanded, tapping impatient fingers on the arm of his chair. "Classes haven't even started yet."  
  
The Potion Master closed his mouth abruptly. "Please wait here for a few minutes. I need to go get the Headmaster."   
  
As he left the room, he heard Harry mutter to his rival, "Why do I get the idea that there's way more to that little exercise than he was letting on?"  
  
Snape hurried straight to the Great Hall, where the Headmaster still sat. "Albus," he said quickly, "look at these." He handed the man the tests. "They're perfect scores, Albus. No one gets perfect scores on the NEWTs. Particularly not a pair of sixth years."  
  
"So Mr Potter and Mr Malfoy's studying has paid off. The potential was always there, in both of them, if they could find the drive. It was certainly there in their parents."  
  
"Oh, they've found the drive. Each other. At this point, all they care about is beating each other."  
  
Dumbledore's eyes twinkled. "Surely, Severus, you don't mean that. That may be all they see between themselves, but there's more to it than that. Give them the rest of their NEWTs. See how they do. I doubt they'll mind being up all night; they frequently are. There aren't any classes tomorrow, and we can talk then."  
  
"Should I tell them what they're doing?"  
  
"I think it would be wise, Severus. They're quite smart. They'll get suspicious and probably stubborn if you don't tell them."  
  
The Professor had expected to find two very impatient young men waiting for him in his classroom, but instead he found them quite wrapped up in Potion making. They had, apparently, found the advanced book he'd accidentally left on his desk and decided to try one of the more complicated, though quicker, recipes. They were arguing, again, about nothing, apparently, since they were in perfect accord about the Potion. Again, he stood in his own doorway to watch them. He was curious, and he grew even more so when their conversation turned serious.  
  
The blonde had asked, very quietly, if Harry would get him something from the back of the classroom. After the Gryffindor had complied, he said, "You seem to be resigned to that chair, Malfoy. I would have thought you'd fight it."  
  
"And what point would there be in that? Nothing I do is going to change the fact that I'm paralysed. I do want to rant and rave, to throw a tantrum—particularly when people stare at me, or I have to fight to get myself out of my chair and into bed, or when even getting dressed is an effort. What good would it do, though? It might make people feel sorrier for me than they already do, and I hate it enough now."  
  
"Do you ever wish I'd done what you told me and left you to die?"  
  
"Not seriously." The Slytherin shrugged and stirred the Potion. "I do wish sometimes that my life weren't like this, but nothing's going to change it. No, Potter, I don't hate you for goading me into living and saving my life. I have plenty of other reasons. This is about done," he added, referring to the Potion.  
  
"Good. Why can't we ever do anything like this in class? It's much more interesting."  
  
"Because, Mr Potter," Snape said, choosing to make his presence known, "that is one of the more complicated Potions. Generally only Potions Masters make it. By the way, congratulations to both of you on a perfect Potions NEWT."  
  
The two young men exchanged astonished glances. "You gave us a NEWT?" Draco asked, astonished. "And we passed it?"  
  
"With a perfect score, which is virtually unheard of. The Headmaster would like you to take the rest of the NEWTs tonight, if you're willing."  
  
Grey and green eyes met, both thinking about it quite seriously. Snape had the feeling that each decision depended on the other's, that either both or neither would agree. Finally, in unison, they nodded. "We'll do it," Harry said curtly.  
  
"Good. Dumbledore will have told the appropriate teachers by now, so the first will be coming shortly."  
  
The boys nodded and set about bottling their Potion while they waited for the next professor to arrive. Neither boy looked the slightest bit nervous. Both of them, in fact, looked like they were looking forward to the challenge. 


	3. Passion3

Passion Part 3  
  
Disclaimer: Not mine, clear?  
  
Enjoy!  
  
Despite the early hour, curses and complaints could be clearly heard echoing from the Headmaster's tower the next morning. Under the first voice, a second could be heard, snickering.  
  
"Oh, come on, Malfoy. You don't have to climb them," Harry said through his laughter,  
  
"My chair is jolting me, Potter! I'd rather climb."  
  
"Well, if you wouldn't insist on hurrying ahead, the stairs would take you up."  
  
"I want to know what the Headmaster has to say!"  
  
Snape rolled his eyes as the two war-heroes dissolved once again into the bickering they were so famous for. The bickering that the older fighters, those who had fought in the first war, found amusing, but the younger fighters found completely inappropriate. Especially when their competition devolved into how much blood they could shed, how many wounds they took, and how many they caught alive. It was rumoured that the Death Eaters had their own name for the pair, as they'd always worked together, except in the final battle when Potter had had to fight alone, their competition making them perfect partners, but if it were true, Snape had never heard it. Of course, the Potions master hadn't been around for much of their fighting, so he really didn't know.  
  
Finally, they entered the office, and even the brats were respectful around the Headmaster. The two who had had to walk took their seats, and Draco positioned his chair next to Harry. Both young men looked at the Headmaster expectantly.  
  
"First off," Albus said gently, "I would like to thank you for going along with this. You've had a busy night."  
  
"It's nothing," Draco said coolly.  
  
"We didn't mind."  
  
Snape sneered. It might not have been a long night for the brats, but it had been longer than he liked, and he was tired and less inclined to be charitable.  
  
"Good, good," Dumbledore continued genially. "Nevertheless, it was an imposition." He looked at them both, old blue eyes twinkling. "Next, I would like to congratulate you both on the highest NEWTs scores that Hogwarts has seen. I asked you to come up here to discuss what you're going to do now. You clearly don't need to attend classes anymore. While there are probably lessons you don't know at all, you know enough that you could get any job you wanted. Well, you could, Harry. And I expect that's where the problem comes in for both of you."  
  
"Yes," Draco said bitterly. "Who wants to hire me? I'm crippled."  
  
"And it's both or neither of us now," Harry continued. "Malfoy and I make good partners. I won't take a job unless they hire him, too. I'd miss the competition."  
  
"Even if they hired me, they wouldn't let me do anything. After all, I'm stuck in a chair. What use could I possibly be to anyone?"  
  
Having successfully made their point, Harry continued, "What we'd really like is to be able to keep learning. The problem with that is that we don't want to specialise, so the normal apprentice system won't work. We want to learn everything we can."  
  
"The fact that we passed our NEWTs half way through sixth year should prove that we can do what we want."  
  
Dumbledore surveyed the two boys, noted the darkness in both their eyes and was saddened by it, but he also saw the way the two leaned into each other without even realising it, and he smiled. "You're both underage, and neither of you has a guardian any longer. If you had a guardian here at the school, you'd be able to stay here and attend any lessons you wished, but you wouldn't be students. You could also get more advanced lessons from the professors. I'm sure they'd be willing. That would give you ample opportunity to learn whatever you wish, since most of the teachers here are masters at their subjects, without boring you in ordinary lessons. It would also solve the other problem."  
  
"Other problem, Headmaster?" Draco asked, amused. "You can go right out and say it, you know. I'm resigned to it, for the most part, and dancing around the subject isn't going to help. I'm paralysed and for the moment unemployable. They know I was Potter's partner through most of the war, but that was before I was injured. They don't realise I can be just as deadly in my chair. Someday, I'm sure they will."  
  
"Of course, Draco. It would also make your paralysis easier for you, then."  
  
Grey and green eyes locked for a moment. Snape was surprised to see a repeat of the scene from earlier in his classroom; one's acceptance depended entirely on the other, and vice versa. Finally, the blonde asked, "Who would be our guardian?"  
  
The Potions Master, immediately sensing a potential reason for his presence in the office, woke up enough to protest. "Albus, I can't! I can't take care of two teenage boys!"  
  
"Severus. . ."  
  
"I have to teach enough of them as it is! And these two in particular! Do you have any idea how much trouble they'll be? Not to mention Draco's. . ."  
  
"Severus!"  
  
The Potions Master immediately closed his mouth with a glance at his star pupil. The Malfoy heir might say that he didn't care if others mentioned his paralysis, but Snape was positive that such an abrupt reference to it would still bother him. "Sorry, Draco," he muttered guiltily.  
  
"Not a problem, Professor."  
  
Albus looked sternly over his glasses at the dark eyed man. "Severus, if you had let me finish, your little tirade would not have been necessary. I am perfectly willing to take charge of both boys. The Ministry already practically considers me to be Harry's guardian. It will be no trouble to get that verified, and it will be little more to gain custody of Draco as well."  
  
"An advantage of my paralysis," the blonde mused, seemingly impassive. "Most people," he glanced irritably at his Head of House, "don't want me because of it."  
  
Dumbledore ignored the interruption. "Even without their own fortunes, neither of which is insubstantial, I am fully capable of supporting both of them. I will contact the Ministry this morning, as soon as we're finished here."  
  
Snape nodded. "That will make this easier. Albus, I have a request."  
  
"What is it?"  
  
"I want Draco moved out of the Slytherin dorms. He isn't terribly popular there, and I don't think it's safe for him."  
  
The blonde's head shot up, grey eyes narrowed. "I can take care of myself, whether or not I can walk!"  
  
"Draco, please be reasonable. Besides, I heard you talking to Potter earlier about how much you're struggling to do just little things. You're a fool if you think your House-mates don't notice." He turned back to the Headmaster. "Would it be possible to give him a private room in the castle? I shouldn't think it would be difficult, considering they've already graduated and aren't students here any longer. Besides, Potter has one. If they're both going to be your charges, you'll need to treat them equally."  
  
With a glance at his rival, Harry offered, "Malfoy could stay with me. My rooms are plenty big enough, and we spend enough time together as it is. I already know most of what his paralysis entails; I was the one to diagnose him."  
  
The blonde nodded. "That's fine. It'll make studying together easier when we don't have to contend with separate Houses. Speaking of which, you didn't mention which of us did better on our NEWTs. Could you tell us, please?"  
  
"You did equally well, averaged out. You, Draco, were slightly better at History of Magic, but Harry's Astronomy grade made up the difference. It was also quite clear that the work was too easy for you. The two of you need to be challenged. Harry, if you could show Draco to your rooms?"  
  
"Professor, I do have one request," Harry said.  
  
"What is it?"  
  
"Don't tell the students. Don't let the other professors tell them either. Let them wonder what Malfoy and I are up to."  
  
Draco grinned maliciously. "Yes, Professor, it'll be nice to leave them wondering for a while. Particularly if we start showing up entirely randomly for the classes. Which won't necessarily be our own. Personally, I'm headed for seventh year Transfiguration tomorrow."  
  
"Malfoy! Transfiguration is easy! Can't we at least go somewhere more interesting?"  
  
"Like where? And of course Transfiguration is easy for you, you unregistered Animagus." Draco considered that statement for a moment, and he turned back to the Headmaster. "Is there any point in my learning the Animagus transformation? It'd be pretty useless if I'm still paralysed, but if I'm not, it'd be really useful."  
  
"You wouldn't be. Learning the transformation would be a good idea for you. Harry is probably the best person to help you with that."  
  
"My point, Malfoy," Harry taunted easily.   
  
Draco refused to rise to the bait, distracted by the promise he wanted but had yet to receive from the Headmaster. "Are you going to tell the students?"  
  
Dumbledore looked at the two boys in innocent surprise. "Why, not if you don't want me to," he said, eyes twinkling mischievously. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to send an Owl to the Ministry. The two of you were up all night; I'd like you to stay in your rooms today. Get Draco settled, sleep if you wish, and if you insist on fighting or duelling, remember that you're both tired and be careful."  
  
Exchanging sly expressions, the two smirked and chanted, in unison, "Yes, Uncle Albus." They left as fast as the Slytherin's chair could carry him, before any form of retaliation could be hit upon by the adults.  
  
Harry's rooms were right down the hall from the entrance to Dumbledore's tower, and they were hidden similarly. They consisted of a small common room, a study, a library, a bedroom, and a bathroom. Draco's things had already arrived in the bedroom.  
  
"Come on, Malfoy; I'll help you unpack."  
  
"I can do it myself."  
  
Harry turned, green eyes catching grey. "I know you can. It'll take longer if you do. I don't mind helping. Will you accept it?"  
  
Draco hesitated, but he nodded finally. "Yes. Just so long as it's understood that I can do it for myself."  
  
"You've gotten much touchier about that lately," the Gryffindor observed, leading the way into the bedroom.  
  
"Of course I have. People have been trying to baby me. 'Oh, he's crippled, he can't do anything for himself, poor, poor Malfoy.' I have had to prove, time and time again, that I am fully capable of taking care of myself."  
  
"Please reassure yourself that I've never doubted it. Maybe not as well as I can, but better than anyone else in this school." He opened Draco's trunk and grimaced at the school uniforms. "You know," he said thoughtfully, "we don't have to wear these any longer."  
  
"They aren't practical or comfortable," Draco agreed, seeing where this line of reasoning was going. "But we only have one other type of clothing, really." He looked at his rival, blonde eyebrows raised, smirking slightly.  
  
"But that clothing is so much more comfortable. . ."  
  
"And it would be such waste if they went to waste. . ."  
  
"So, Malfoy, do you think Hogwarts can survive the Chaos Reepers?"  
  
Trying unsuccessfully to suppress his smirk, the Slytherin mock-gasped. "The famed Voldemort fighters? The two warriors who always wore masks? Who cause more havoc than us? Who always knew where the battle was when they were needed?" He punched Harry on the arm. "They already have to survive us, Potter. We might as well give them some warning of whom they are dealing with now."  
  
"Will Dumbledore allow it?"  
  
"I don't see why not. Even if he doesn't, since when do we care? We invented those alter-egos so we could fight when we weren't allowed to, if you'll recall. I swear, you Gryffindors seriously need memory help. Maybe it's just your natural stupidity."  
  
"Your point," Harry admitted, making a face. He quickly grinned again. "Oh, the looks on their faces are going to be priceless," he laughed, pulling Draco's war uniforms from the trunk.  
  
The two rivals spent the rest of the day planning their entrance at dinner that night, delighted at the thought of the school's reaction. 


	4. Passion4

Passion 4  
  
Disclaimer: Not mine.  
  
Harry and Draco were giving each other one last look over in their little common room before they went down. They were aware that supper would have just started for the rest of the school, and they planned on making their entrance fashionably late-with the eyes of the whole school on them.  
  
They were dressed identically, in black dragon-hide pants that were skin tight, custom made for the two of them to move in, dark grey silk shirts, and hooded cloaks that looked like they had been spun from the shadows. On their faces were crimson half-masks, their eyes glowing under their hoods like gemstones. This was comfortable. This was what they were used to. This was who they were.  
  
Gryffindor's sword hung on his heir's back. Similarly, the Malfoy blade hung from the back of Draco's chair, where he could reach it easily. Neither carried any other visible weapons, but despite being back in the safety of Hogwarts, they wore the full arsenal hidden about their persons.  
  
"Ready?" the Gryffindor asked quietly.  
  
"Yes." Pale lips twisted into a cruel smirk. "Let's have some fun."  
  
They didn't encounter anyone in the halls on their way to dinner, just as they'd expected. Everyone else was already in the Great Hall. . .a captive audience.  
  
"Potter. . ."  
  
"Yes, Malfoy?"  
  
"How dramatic should we make this?"  
  
"As dramatic as we want." He muttered a charm to put out the lights in the Great Hall. "That should tell Uncle Albus what we're up to."  
  
Draco grinned. He summoned a storm for the Hall's illusory ceiling. Together they called up a wind to slam open the doors and surround them as they entered the now dark and stormy Hall. There was dead silence. Students who had been looking to the professors for reassurance when the lights went out turned slowly, full of dread, to face the opened doors.  
  
Draco thought it should be fairly obvious who they were behind the masks. Only one person in the school had to use a chair to get around, and that one was him. His partner should be equally obvious, considering Harry was the only person he'd spent significant amounts of time with since they had started fighting together. Still, no one in the Hall except a few of the teachers appeared to have figured it out.  
  
Some of the younger students were crying, and a few people screamed as the two warriors were illuminated by lightning, making their way slowly to the teachers' table.  
  
Finally, Dumbledore stood. "Welcome, Chaos Reapers."  
  
Draco smirked. "Come now, Uncle," he emphasized the endearment mockingly. "Surely you know who we are?"  
  
"I do indeed, Draco, Harry. I had thought you might prefer to introduce yourselves."  
  
Both young men laughed and threw back their hoods and masks. "Why bother?" Harry asked. "You do it so nicely." Both fiddled with their wands and muttered under their breaths, returning the Hall to normal.  
  
Harry perched himself on the arm of his partner's chair and looked around the Hall in amusement. "Where to sit, where to sit," he mused aloud.  
  
"I don't care what table you choose, Potter, but you aren't sitting there. Get off."  
  
Ignoring Draco, the Gryffindor continued, "Well, actually, I'm not sure where we want to sit is the question, hmm? I think it's more of which table will let us join them. Wouldn't want to be poisoned at supper or make the firsties uncomfortable. What do you think, Malfoy? Shall we have an envoy from each table come and tell us why we can or cannot join them for supper?"  
  
"For the moment, I'm indifferent." The Slytherin pressed the sharp blade of a knife into the small of the other's back. "Get off."  
  
"Knives, Malfoy? Aren't you the pureblooded wizard?"  
  
"Cutting you up is so much more effective than cursing you, Potter. It gets through even to your puerile mind. Off. Now."  
  
In a move too fast for anyone to see, Harry grabbed the knife. Once he had it, he reluctantly relinquished his seat. "Draw. What a pity."  
  
"For you, perhaps. I got what I wanted. Now that that's settled, your idea sounds fine." He looked around at the people silently staring at him. "Well?"  
  
Dumbledore stood, eyes twinkling. "Enough theatrics, both of you. Settle where you're sitting or come and join us, but you're frightening the first years."  
  
"Frightening the first years?" Harry muttered.  
  
"More like the whole school," his partner agreed under his breath. Aloud, he said, "Well? Where are our envoys?"  
  
They watched in amusement as the Houses scrambled. Only Slytherin remained calm, Morag MacDougal approaching them at a slow saunter and standing back to watch what everyone else would say.  
  
At the Gryffindor table, Ron was being restrained by his girlfriend and sister. Finally, he pulled away and shouted, "We don't let dark wizards eat with us, Potter. Go eat with your new House."  
  
A Hufflepuff approached them, trembling, asking if they could eat somewhere else, as the first years were frightened enough as it was. Ravenclaw, the House of the smart, pointed out logically that there wasn't room at their table. Morag said coolly, "You can join us, Malfoy. You know why."  
  
Draco laughed and nodded. "I do indeed. Come, Harry."  
  
They settled at the Slytherin table, not having to converse with anyone except each other. They watched the politics in the Great Hall with amusement until dinner was over and they returned to their rooms.  
  
Draco stopped abruptly in the doorway to the bedroom. "There're two beds."  
  
"Your point?"  
  
"Do we have roommates?"  
  
"No. There are two of us."  
  
"Oh. I got used to sharing with you during the war. I assumed moving back in together meant going back to sharing a bed. Singular."  
  
"We can if you want to." He waved his wand, merging the two beds, and sat down on the side of the resultant, requested, singular bed. "We need to talk, Malfoy."  
  
The blond crossed his arms, almost sure of where this conversation was going, though knowing Harry, he could want nothing more than to argue about philosophy, just to irritate him. "So talk."  
  
"Sex was a great stress reliever during the war. Before I killed Voldemort and you got hurt, that was all there was to it. We needed the relief. We never kissed, we never touched intimately outside of actual sex, and it was just fucking. Now, though . . . There isn't a war, and we don't have that as an excuse."  
  
"Now we've kissed twice. Since I initiated the first one, you assume I know what's going on between us."  
  
"Pretty much, yes."  
  
"Then allow me to remind you that you initiated the second kiss. You know as much about this as I do."  
  
"Is there more to being wizarding partners than I know about?"  
  
"Only if both partners want it. If both of us do . . ."  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"If both of us do, it'll be an even stronger partnership." Having said all he was willing to say, he pressed his lips together.  
  
"Fine. I'm not in love with you, Malfoy, and I doubt you're in love with me. I do think that you're extremely attractive."  
  
"Ditto," Draco said curtly, having picked the word up from Harry during the war.  
  
"So. The same arrangement we had for the war? No emotional attachment, just sex?"  
  
"For now, yes."  
  
"What do you mean, for now, Malfoy?" Harry scowled. "Stop being bloody cryptic."  
  
Draco smirked. "My point, Potter. If you can't figure it out, why should I tell you?"  
  
The Gryffindor shrugged. "Maybe because if you don't, I'll over power you and drug you with Veritaserum?"  
  
"You'd do it, too, wouldn't you? Fine. You said it yourself. We never kissed during the war. Now we have. Twice. Our relationship is already changing. We've actively admitted that we would like to stay together, work together. We're pushing the boundaries of what we can do. I don't think we're going to be able to keep any aspect of our relationship the same, not even casual fucking. One of us is going to fall."  
  
"I know. That's been inevitable for a while now. We don't have to talk about it until it happens."  
  
Draco grinned and leaned forward, pulling his partner to him. He kissed the other boy once, hard. "So now the only argument left is- who's top?"  
  
It wasn't quite as simple as that, as they soon discovered. Draco couldn't be the top, but he wasn't about to admit it without a fight. During the war, they'd finally resigned themselves to taking turns, neither able to completely dominate the other. Now, however . . .  
  
"This is so not fair!" Draco protested, his arms held above his head. "I'm at a slight disadvantage here!" His legs were dead weight, giving him two limbs to fight with to Harry's four.  
  
"Too bad. It's not like you didn't take advantage every time I was injured!"  
  
"You're one to talk!" Draco would have gone on, but a scarf materialized in his mouth, and he stared up at Harry, armed with a wand, in astonishment. His eyes widened further when he felt manacles materialize around his wrists.  
  
Harry grinned. "You think I didn't learn anything from you? This is going to be fun. You can still feel your arse and genitalia. You're the one who wanted to share my bed."  
  
Draco relaxed reluctantly. Much as he hated to admit it, Harry did know what he was doing, and they would both enjoy this. 


End file.
